A Letter to Santa: What Us Grown-Ups Want for Christmas

Hey there. I know you recently received my son's extensive and detailed list of demands, and I'm sure some other kids wrote to you as well. But I'm wondering: What about the grown-ups? Don't we get to want stuff? Listen, Santa (can I call you Santa?), my friends and I, we harbor desires no mere mortal could fulfill. You, however, are clearly no mere mortal. If anyone can do it, Santa, it's you! (Yes, I am kissing up to you. You probably get that a lot.) So here you go.

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First up is my pal Laura, who writes The Queso. Laura is worried about you, Oh Red-Suited One. "You've clearly been working too hard because we all have too much," she writes. "So just stop. Or, even better, take some stuff away...stuff like Snooki, and meat dresses. But if you have to be a giver, then please bring back Michael Jackson. And Elvis."

Heather from Dooce wants only one thing this year: "A life-sized sculpture of Zac Efron. He's single now, I heard." (Wait, does she want a sculpture or the real thing? Oh, well — whatever's easiest for you to stuff in that bag of yours.)

Girl's Gone Child writer Rebecca wants the honeymoon she never had. Romance, Santa! How can you say no? "When Hal and I first eloped, we hadn't the money nor the time to go on a proper honeymoon. Six years later, we're still waiting for both to fall out of the sky and onto our laps. Speaking of laps, yours is very comfortable to sit on. That IS faux fur on your hat, yes?"

As always, Cecily of Uppercase Woman is thinking of everyone else: "Writing about my own financial struggles has shown me how many, many people are in dire trouble financially. I'd like to see them all get their jobs back, their homes back, and the happy lives they once lived back as well." (While you're at it, big guy, get her a vacation. Someplace warm. With snorkeling.)

Marinka, who writes Motherhood in NYC, humbly submits the following: "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is ending soon and we still don't know when The Real Housewives of New York will start. Please, Santa, if you and Jesus could somehow collaborate on the new season starting soon, that would be great."

Then there's Jenn. Dear, dear Jenn, who'd like a little magic tossed her way. And you know what? She deserves it. "Dear Santa, I don't need a pony, but I could use a clean slate. I got a divorce and you can't re-gift those. I know you can't make the divorce go away, but if you could zap some of the old happy memories, I'd be grateful. They hurt too much."

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Caissie, who writes over at Caissie's Thing, has but a humble request, O Giver of Glad Tidings: time. "Not a lot. Like five minutes a day. My ultimate goal is to use the time to shave my legs, but if that is too luxurious, I would be willing to shave one one leg per day, and just enjoy an overall lower average of hairiness."

Loralee has a...vividly rendered favor to ask: "Is there anything you can do to stop teenage boys from smelling like teenage boys and more like fresh baked bread or sun dried sheets or something? I would really like my ONE BATHROOM to stop smelling like the bowels of an ancient high school locker room that has been hosed down liberally with B.O. and Pop Rocks." Oh, my.

Finally, Sarah at Whoorl has been too damned selfless this year: "My numerous attempts at trying to visualize world peace have left me with a huge furrowed crease in my forehead. Santa, could you somehow erase these wrinkles without the use of injected botulism?"

As for me, Santa, I would like a joyful holiday for everyone, and a happy new year, and actually while you're at it could you eradicate all sadness? Invent an anti-sadness vaccine. I bet it's part egg nog! (On second thought, it's probably not part egg nog.)

Love, Alice

P.S. Please also fulfill the requests of all the commenters on this post. Thanks in advance, S.C. You're the greatest!

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